Woot! Woot!
*Now get outta my way, let me praise my Jesus! Get outta my way! If I don’t praise him the rocks are gonna cry out, “Glory and Honour! Glory and Honour! I ain’t got time to die.*
–American Spiritual
Tag: hope
Where were you?
Mourning
I cry, Oh God! Oh Christ! Oh Jesus!
Where are you when the ones who say
they speak for you –those who squeeze us,
press in on every side, demand
that we respect authority,
obey their rules, come (cash in hand)
to hear their words, as only they
have got the regulations straight at last?
Where are you when the weak are hurt,
aggrieved and stumbled in your name?
Don’t you see what they have passed?
I sit entangled with the chords
of bitterness around my feet.
A plant blows over on the boards
that fence me off from outside world.
The petals scatter on the grass
and now the gust of wind that swirled
their frail wings in electric air
becomes a greater blast of rage
that showers ashes in my hair.
Flash tears the sky –breath rent apart,
and splits the veil of one who mourns,
with lightning striking to the heart.
Deep groaning rolls across the vale
from craggy peak to worn down ridge
and rains pours down –beats down in hail.
The sun withdraws beneath a cloud.
and saplings hang their weeping heads
as thunder rails against the proud,
who dare to claim the earth their own,
–and in the woods from hill to hill
creation echoes back the moan.
My tears obscure the sky from view.
Oh God! I cry. God! Where are you?
My child, I hear. I weep with you.
(written during the struggle)
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Letting Go
And Forgive Us our Debts
Nothing left to give.
Look into my empty sack,
my empty jar.
See my cold black torch.
How am I to live?
I cannot pay back what I owe
‘til I get payback for my lack.
And they took it.
They squandered it.
They spent my joy on riots.
They spent my innocence on games.
They threw my peace on the bonfire
and danced around it.
Let go
I’ve squeezed my eyes until they bled,
I’ve held my breath
until my heart pounded on death’s door —
still I cannot disappear
into the disheveled dirt bed
And here you are
–and you want more.
How dare you?
How dare you, God?
How dare you?
How dare you shove
your saber hand into my chest
and divide spent spirit from sullied soul
to reach the hissing python.
Let go
I can’t let go!
It’s only anger —
it’s only hate
that coiled around my crooked spine
enables me to stand up straight
and curse them!
Let go
Aren’t you gentle Jesus
meek and mild?
Go take your love to some purer child.
And stop that!
You’re hurting me!
Let go
They poached my song!
They caught my rhyme!
They raped my soul!
They took my time!
They grabbed my mind
and jammed it on a fearsome pike –as a warning.
They took my gates forever.
I’ve damned the light
and sealed the sash
with dark green plastic meant for trash.
What good are thickened walls of stone
when the door’s been burned to ash.
Let go
The bill’s right here;
I have kept track.
My hands will tighten ‘round their necks.
My hands are strong —
they’ll not be slack
‘til I get everything I lack.
Give it back!
Give it back!
Give it back!
Let go
You let go!
I’m offended by this “loving hand”
that feels more like a gunshot wound.
Let go
I can’t let go!
I won’t let go!
I don’t want to let go!
They owe me!
Let go
Help me.
Let go
You know if I let go it will kill me.
I know
It’s hard.
I can’t fill your hands until you empty them.
Who is going to help me?
I am.
(This poem was written about one of the toughest steps in healing from chronic depression –forgiveness. To me forgiveness is about letting go of legitimate debts owed me and allowing God to supply my needs.)
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Therefore I remember
Someone asked me recently, “What is the difference between heartache and depression?” Having known both I could answer, “Heartache causes you to cry out, in your pain, to the God of hope; depression causes you to lose sight of hope.”
I do not believe that humankind faces any greater pain than the loss of hope. I’ve had a lot of painful physical problems in my life, but none so bad that I wanted to die just so the pain would stop. Depression made me want to die.
I was familiar with the sense that the dark clouds were again descending and feeling helpless to stop the storm that sucked all the colour out of my life. If you understand what I mean by this, I urge you to keep your eyes on the sliver of light on the horizon, and when it disappears, to cling by faith to the memory and certain hope that light is indeed still there and will again arise in the dark. And if that fails, cling to someone who can carry faith for you.
The psalmist understood this pain.
As a deer longs for streams of water,
so I long for You, God.
I thirst for God, the living God.
When can I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my food day and night,
while all day long people say to me,
“Where is your God?”
I remember this as I pour out my heart:
how I walked with many,
leading the festive procession to the house of God,
with joyful and thankful shouts.
Why am I so depressed?
Why this turmoil within me?
Put your hope in God, for I will still praise Him,
my Savior and my God.
I am deeply depressed;
therefore I remember You from the land of Jordan
and the peaks of Hermon, from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls;
all Your breakers and Your billows have swept over me.
The LORD will send His faithful love by day;
His song will be with me in the night—
a prayer to the God of my life.
I will say to God, my rock,
“Why have You forgotten me?
Why must I go about in sorrow
because of the enemy’s oppression?”
My adversaries taunt me,
as if crushing my bones,
while all day long they say to me,
“Where is your God?”
Why am I so depressed?
Why this turmoil within me?
Put your hope in God, for I will still praise Him,
my Savior and my God. –Psalm 42
There is no pain or humiliation that Jesus does not understand.
There is hope! After 40 years of seeing that darkness descend again and again I am finally free. I am so happy -yes happy- to be alive! The God of hope is faithful to his promises. He is so good! He is so very, very good and I praise him with all my joyful heart!
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As surely as the dawn
So let us know, let us press on to know the Lord, for as surely as the dawn He will come.
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Wild little prophets
I saw these guys on my walk in the woods yesterday.
Crocus flowers, or pasque flowers as they are sometimes called, fascinate me. As forerunners they are the first to demonstrate the change in season by the prophetic act of blooming before any of the other wild flowers in the Rockies.
I read this recently: Hope is hearing the music of the future; faith is being able to dance to it today.
The crocus reveals, as it folds back its furry purple robes, a heart of gold. It’s mere presence between patches of dust-weary snow in the mountain meadows sings to me songs of stepping into destiny by faith.
Come out of your caves! Don’t let your past define who you are today!
Open to the light! Let it dispel all the dark fear that keeps you from letting anyone see your heart! You are beautiful!
Wakey! Wakey! Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed in as fine apparel as the Lord has already given you who love him. He has equipped you with every good gift you need for this season.
Are you listening? Can you feel it?
Ready…
Set…
NOW!
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He will come as the rain
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This is the day
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Melting: Kootenay Pass in April
First break-through, then run-off.
Charis: Subject to Change 